Dr Kathryn Hummel University of South Australia
Australia
I pretend this mirror grants wishes and look back on myself
as Alice, with brown hair mussed prettily by insomnia.
I wish not to be the reflection, You, holding your boar bristle brush
like a potential punishment
with your look, somehow, of quality like a closed-heel shoe.
The clip of your voice matches too. Both are lures to those who’ve swindled your money or your trust. While your best friend was intent, always, on defending some other girl, sometimes the villain triumphed
and sometimes He was You.
On travels you picked up smart phrases like parasites
and lost your sense of humour.
It rotates on an eternal carousel in the airport of a mosquito-thick country, avoiding reclamation.
If other titles are striking
and worth the same or less pretence, why, then, be a Poet for words?
Think how charity fades with intimacy.
Accept the tributes of adjectives from those you do not know.
Put down the brush and pen before bed, lay one sheet to repel the soul
and wind the other round your legs. For tomorrow, think of the offerings laid at the doorstep of today.